


In Whiskey Veritas

by imaginary_golux



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe is very happy for Finn, who is on his very first date with Rey. Poe is also getting very carefully drunk. These two facts may or may not be related.</p>
<p>Beta by my ever-patient Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Whiskey Veritas

Poe is quite drunk.

He is, however, sort of vaguely proud of himself, because for all that he _is_ getting messily drunk in order to deal with his broken heart, he is doing it in an intelligent and foresightful manner, as befits a commander of entire squadrons of X-Wings. He has a large bottle of water, which he is drinking from every few minutes, in between sips of very good Corellian whiskey, and BB-8 has custody of a couple of very good painkillers and also a little bottle of a vile concoction which will, should it become necessary, render Poe completely sober over the course of about five truly unpleasant minutes. Poe has a blanket and a pillow and a bucket in case he needs to throw up, and a box of tissues for the inevitable crying jag - Poe is a weepy drunk, and expects to be more so tonight.

He does not - he feels this is quite important to make clear - he does _not_ make a habit of holing up in isolated corners of the base and getting stinking drunk. This is a special occasion. Oh, he’ll have a drink now and again with his squadmates, but that’s social drinking; he never gets more than a little buzzed. This is drinking with a _purpose_ , and that purpose is to try and get drunk enough to have a good cry about the fact that he is madly in love and his beloved is madly in love - with someone else.

And then tomorrow he’ll take the painkillers and hopefully the water will keep him from having _too_ much of a hangover and he’ll go back to being commander of the X-Wings of the Resistance and do his utmost not to let his beloved know that it feels like his heart is being wrenched right out of his chest. Because he wants his beloved to be _happy_ , and if that means his beloved is happy with someone else - well then.

Poe’s always had a self-sacrificing streak.

And it’s not as though Poe’s beloved chose _badly_. Poe is...well, he knows his own faults. He’s obsessive about the Resistance and his droid, he’d rather spend his time in the air than on the ground, he flirts with everyone and everything, he’s probably going to be dead before he’s forty from the war, he has nightmares three nights in four - really impressive screaming ones - about masked figures and endless desert sand, he’s a workaholic and a hopeless romantic and sort of pathetic really.

Yep, he’s drunk enough to be maudlin. Good.

_Anyway_. And Poe’s beloved’s beloved is...is, in fact, good enough for Poe’s beloved. She is downright _magnificent_ , in fact. As good a pilot as Poe’s ever seen, brave and kind and clever and daring, and so clearly in love with Poe’s beloved that it’s truly almost sickening to watch. They _suit_ each other, Poe’s beloved and his lady love, as well as Poe’s old jacket suits his beloved’s broad shoulders. If Poe wasn’t busy mooning over his beloved’s dark eyes and sweet smile, he might have had the bad luck to fall in love with _her_ proud carriage and clever hands. Bad luck, of course, because she is so firmly in love with Poe’s beloved.

Long life and good health to them both.

Poe toasts his beloved, silently, with the bottle of whiskey, and ignores BB-8’s quiet indignant beeping. It’s only this one night - Poe is allowed _one_ night to wallow in his misery. Tomorrow and every day thereafter he will be professional and friendly and courteous and all other good things. Tonight he gets to sit here in the darkness, watching the stars wheel by overhead, and wish - wish upon a star, the way he did when he was very small - that he had ever even had a _chance_ with his beloved. That in some other universe, perhaps, there’s a Poe Dameron who has his beloved in his arms right now, willingly in his arms, wanting him back.

Lucky bastard of an alternate universe self.

Wow, Poe’s managed to make himself jealous of a purely fictional version of _himself_. This is very good whiskey. Really spectacularly good whiskey. Tastes good.

Poe’s beloved would taste better, if Poe ever got to kiss him. Not that he ever will. Well, maybe at Poe’s beloved’s _wedding_ , if Poe is drunk and stupid and chooses to kiss the bride and groom for luck. But he’s not that stupid, and if he lives long enough to attend their wedding he will damn well stay sober through the whole thing and only get falling-down drunk when it’s all over and he can find a nice quiet place to hole up and not inconvenience anyone, just like he is doing right now. He is being very considerate, really, by having this little breakdown here where he’s out of everyone’s way.

“You are,” says someone behind him, “damnably hard to find, Poe Dameron.”

Poe puts his whiskey bottle down and blinks at the very blurry stars in front of him. That sounded like - that sounded like his beloved’s voice. Like _Finn_. Poe’s never hallucinated while drunk before. While _high_ , yes, certainly, which is part of the reason he doesn’t _get_ high anymore, but not while drunk. Which might mean, he decides, very proud of himself for working through the logic while his brain feels like it’s wrapped in muffling layers of cotton, that Finn is _actually_ right behind him. Well done him for figuring that out.

...Oh, _shit_. Finn is right behind him.

Poe turns around slowly, as much because his head is spinning and he might throw up if he moves too fast as out of dread, and blinks disbelievingly at Finn, framed in the doorway, with Rey a single step behind him, nearly hidden in his shadow. Poe bites his lip, hard, so that he won’t say anything at all, because he is much too drunk to censor himself, and if he says anything he’ll say the _truth_ , and then his friendship will go up in smoke - or possibly explode like Starkiller Base - and Poe will have to do something drastic and terminally stupid like get this drunk again.

“Wow,” says Rey, sounding sort of impressed. “Was that bottle _full_ when you started?”

BB-8, the little traitor, burbles confirmation. Finn frowns. Poe bites his lip harder, because what he wants to do is reach out and smooth the frown away from Finn’s lovely face. Finn should be smiling. Finn should always be smiling.

And then Finn is moving towards him, kneeling down in front of him. “Kriff, Poe, what the hell?” Finn murmurs, and picks the water bottle up, holding it to Poe’s lips. Poe opens his mouth and drinks, because if his beloved is offering him something, he’ll take it. Doesn’t really matter what it is. Water. A kiss. A merciful death.

Honestly at this point he might be most grateful for the merciful death.

“BB, do we need to worry about alcohol poisoning?” Rey asks, hunkering down next to Poe’s droid. BB-8 bloops a negative. Poe thinks about feeling indignant at the question, but that would require more effort than he feels like exerting, so never mind. He’ll just kneel here holding a water bottle and staring into Finn’s lovely eyes for a while.

“Does he do this a _lot_?” Finn asks BB-8, and BB-8 bloops another negative, this one quite forceful. Poe’s faintly offended. Of course he doesn’t do this a lot. He has a job, which he is devoted to and also quite good at, thank you very much, and if he was getting this drunk regularly he couldn’t fly as well as he does. This is a _special occasion_.

“Right,” Finn says. “So we were _going_ to talk to you, but I don’t think that would go well just now. So I think we’ll just put you to bed and come back to this in the morning, yeah buddy?”

Poe sways a little. “I can talk,” he objects. “Or - you can talk. I can listen. ‘M _good_ at listenininin. Ask anybody.”

“We know,” Rey assures him, “but this is kind of important and you’re kind of really drunk.”

Poe sits back on his heels and scrubs a hand over his face. “I know you’re in love,” he tells them, staring down into the water bottle as if it holds the secrets of the universe. “I wish you both every happiness.” If they don’t leave soon, he’s going to burst into tears right in front of them, which will be quite possibly the most embarrassing thing he has ever done, and there’s some serious competition for that spot. He’s done some _really stupid_ things in his day.

“I told you he was going to be stupid and self-sacrificing about this,” Finn says to Rey.

“I believed you, but I didn’t really _believe_ you,” Rey sighs. “We can’t take him through the base like this - I don’t think he can walk.”

Poe would object, but honestly he’s pretty sure she’s right, which is why he has the blanket out here in the first place. The blanket which Finn is wrapping very tenderly around his shoulders. That’s...a thing that is happening.

Finn tugs him gently into a more comfortable position, leaning against Finn’s shoulder with his back against the wall, Poe all wrapped up in the blanket and clinging to the water bottle because it’s honestly the only thing that makes sense right now. Rey shuffles around so she can sit on Poe’s other side, astonishingly warm. Finn wraps an arm around Poe’s shoulders.

Maybe this is an alcohol-induced dream? That might be it. Poe probably fell asleep a while back, and this is a really nice dream where he gets to snuggle his beloved and his beloved’s lady love. If it’s a dream, Poe doesn’t need to worry about being head over heels for Finn, and probably half in love with Rey too if he’s being honest with himself. It’s a _nice_ dream. Maybe he’ll even remember it in the morning.

“Love you,” he mutters, and falls asleep.

*

Poe wakes up with a crick in his neck and a sore back, and a mouth that tastes like banthas have been using it as a litter box. But he’s wrapped up in a blanket and leaning against someone warm and solid, with someone else warm tucked in against his other side. There have been worse mornings.

Then he opens his eyes and remembers.

Okay. Yep. That’s Finn that he’s practically sprawled out on top of, and that’s Rey curled around him like another blanket. Poe holds very still, trying to keep his breathing even and slow, and wracks his brain: _what did he say last night_? If the gods are kind, he did not, in fact, say anything he’s going to regret this morning; but then again, if the gods were kind, he would be out here by himself with BB-8, not cuddled up between his beloved and _his beloved’s love_.

Okay. If the gods are willing to grant a few prayers - which they damn well _owe_ him, after letting Finn and Rey interrupt his nice quiet drunken pity party - Poe will be able to squirm out from between his companions without waking them, and maybe by the time they wake up he’ll have been able to shower and brush his teeth and get his head on straight, and they can all forget this embarrassing interlude ever happened. So. If Poe moves _just_ so, then he’ll be able to…

Be wrapped up even more firmly in Finn’s arms while Rey grumbles sleepily and wraps a leg around him to keep him in place. Well. That didn’t work.

“Kriff, it’s too early,” Rey mutters, burrowing against Poe’s shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

Poe blinks up at the slowly lightening sky and wonders what he’s done to deserve this. Really, this is uncalled for. He’s a good person, for the most part; he doesn’t deserve this sort of torment. And it _is_ torment: he wants, more than almost anything, to roll over and kiss Finn’s lovely mouth, to wake his beloved up with soft words and gentle touches; he wants, too, for beautiful Rey to be holding him out of affection and not - some misguided assumption that he’s Finn, probably. Poe can’t imagine that she’d be clinging to him this strongly if she knew who he was. She’s not very tactile with people who aren’t Finn.

“You think too loudly,” Rey grumbles, half-sitting up and pulling Poe up with her so Finn can sit up in his turn. “Alright, alright, we’re up. Ridiculous man.” She fumbles for the water bottle, takes a long drink and then hands it to Poe, who drinks rather bemusedly. The water is cold from the night air, and washes some of the horrible taste out of his mouth.

“Mmm, c’n I have some?” Finn asks, and Poe blinks at his beloved, who is adorably bleary and smiling softly in the dawn light, and hands the water bottle over clumsily. “Thanks.”

Poe is very, very confused. They both seem perfectly aware that they’ve just spent the night curled up around him, and they don’t seem at all discombobulated by this. Maybe they think sleeping in a heap is just a friendly thing to do? And, to be fair, it _can_ be a friendly thing to do - Poe has, in the past, fallen asleep in a pile of exhausted pilots, and it never meant anything more than that they were all too tired to head to their bunks - but. But Poe can’t deal with this.

“D’you need a painkiller?” Rey asks, reaching up with one slender hand to rub gently at the base of Poe’s neck, where he’s got a crick from the awkward curl he slept in.

“No,” Poe says, leaning helplessly into her hand. “I’m okay. But - what is going on here, buddies?”

Finn chuckles. It’s a lovely sound, one Poe has taken great pleasure in eliciting over the last few months, and it’s warm and soft and sweet and not at all mocking. “Well, it’s like this,” he says, and Poe closes his eyes and leans into Rey’s hand, into Finn’s arm warm about his shoulders, while he still has that privilege. “Last night we finally got our act together and _talked_ to each other about how we feel.”

“You love each other,” Poe says miserably. Finn’s hand tightens a little on his shoulder, as if to ensure Poe won’t try to run away. Poe couldn’t run right now if his life depended on it.

“Yes,” Finn says, and Poe can’t quite help flinching at this final confirmation that his dreams are never going to be reality. “But,” Finn adds, something strange in his voice that Poe can’t quite parse, something that makes Poe shove his despairing thoughts to the side and _listen_ , “Poe, we love you too.”

The words don’t make sense at first. Poe hears them, and his muzzy brain refuses to comprehend them. And then they _do_ make sense, and Poe’s eyes fly open and he _gapes_ at Finn, who is smiling sweetly down at him. Rey’s fingers are gentle and steady on the back of his neck, rubbing the pain away; Finn’s arm is warm around his shoulders, holding him here in their embrace. Poe pinches himself, hard, and yelps a little. Rey giggles.

“You’re real,” he says dazedly. “And I haven’t fallen into an alternate universe?”

Finn gives him a dubious look. “Not that I know of, buddy.”

“You love me,” Poe marvels. He can feel the joy building, somewhere deep inside him - not quite real yet, but when it is, he’s going to be so happy he could cry, he can tell already. He tests the shape of this new reality - the one where he’s wrapped in his beloved’s arms - his _beloveds’_ arms - and it’s not because he’s dying or hallucinating or dreaming.

Finn seems to be waiting for something, and after a moment Poe realizes what that something must be, and flushes to the tips of his ears. “Of course I love you,” he says, and Rey sighs contentedly and leans against his shoulder, fingers carding up through his hair. Finn beams, and Poe adds, “Why did you _think_ I was getting drunk?”

Finn sighs. “Yeah, we’d kind of guessed you were being a self-sacrificing idiot.”

“Hey!” Poe says. “I was being a _gentleman_ and trying not to interfere in your first date with the woman you love.”

“That too,” Finn says, sounding vastly amused. He lifts a hand and strokes his thumb over Poe’s cheek. Poe leans into the caress helplessly. “So. Now that we’ve got that straightened out, can we kiss you?”

Poe sways towards him, licks his lips hopefully. “You can do anything you like with me, buddy.”

Finn glances over Poe’s shoulder at Rey, who’s still petting Poe’s hair gently, and then leans forward and brushes his lips against Poe’s in a chaste, sweet, mindblowingly wonderful kiss. Poe doesn’t think he actually whimpers, but it’s a near thing.

“That’s pretty,” Rey says softly. “Do it again.”

Finn chuckles and does. Poe leans into the kiss, trying to memorize this moment, to file it away for future reference. And when Finn breaks the kiss, Rey squirms around until she’s in their laps, heavier than Poe would have expected, and kisses Poe hard. Poe moans a little, back in his throat. Finn hums happily.

“That _is_ pretty,” he says when she leans back. “So. No more getting drunk because you think you can’t have us?”

Poe gulps. “Just to be clear,” he says carefully, “I _can_ have you? Not just for now and then, I mean.”

“Poe,” says Rey, smiling up at him, “we love you and we want to keep you. Forever, if possible. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Poe says hoarsely. “Yes, I want that.”

“Alright,” Finn says. “Then you’re ours, and we’re yours. Forever.”

The word echoes a little strangely - and Poe knows that words in a Force-user’s mouth can have more weight than otherwise - and Poe leans into the warmth of his new lovers’ arms, the warmth of that echoing _forever_ , and smiles.

“Yeah,” he says, thanking every god there is for this moment. “Forever.” And pulls them both in for a messy, perfect kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Do please come say hi at imaginarygolux.tumblr.com!


End file.
